


Cybele

by farrah_yondale



Category: Metroid Series, Metroid: Other M
Genre: Gen, Other M rewrite, fuck the canon essentially, the Chozo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 14:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10946301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farrah_yondale/pseuds/farrah_yondale
Summary: When Adam Malkovich is dispatched off to deal with Pirates on a derelict space station, Samus suspects a trap and acts accordingly.





	Cybele

The world was ending.

Starburst patterns flicker under her eyelids, kaleidoscopes of galaxies threatening to die and take everything with them. Her lids are heavy with the weight of the universe, or at least that’s what the voice in her mind convinces her of. And before she can protest—no, she’s just a child—she’s awestruck again by the way the colors oscillate and blend. Rainbows never did that at home.

It looks just like the beginning, when the elders dropped her into a tank and told her to survive.

But then she opens her eyes and she is not floating between the stars or even in a cylinder breathing liquid, but lying flat in a hospital bed with Adam Malkovich standing over her.

 

“Samus?”

There is a slight pause. Samus’s eyes are shut tight—too tight for it to not have been conscious effort. Samus knows that, but she still can’t help but hope that Adam hadn’t consumed enough coffee this morning to realize.

“Samus?” he tries again, and she finally has to give up the charade.

She opens her eyes again, feigns disorientation to a least be given a moment of silence before he hurls a barrage of questions her way. He’s too doting. Too _human_. Doting and worrying was a human thing.

“How are you feeling?”

Samus’s only reply is a throaty groan, a disgruntled caw mixed together in her hybrid voicebox into some strange cacophony that only Adam Malkovich would understand as “Leave me alone”. She doesn’t bother to make eye contact and stares at the fabric outline of her legs.

Loitering with his arms folded gravely before, Adam leans over her now, his voice hushed.

“Samus, I’m only here because I have something important to tell you.”

He always says that.

But she knows he means it every time. Her eyes flicker up. They’re a brilliant deep brown, as dark as the depths of the universe, Anthony would brag. Anthony had always been a poet.

Her files would say otherwise, however. That they’re blue, like the oceans of Earth. Adam explains to her that it makes her more heroic that way. It’s another human thing. Samus doesn’t bother to try and understand.

“You’re in danger.”

“I’m—” _I’m always in danger_ , she tries to say, but her voice comes out like gravel.

“They’re doing experiments with Metroids.”

They’re always doing experiments with Metroids.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he adds with amusement when he sees that sarcastic sparkle in her eyes. “But it’s different this time. They’re experimenting with their behavior, not their biology.”

Samus only gives him an inquisitive look.

“I don’t even know all the details,” Adam goes on. “But—”

But Adam can’t finish when a knock raps on the metal door. Someone is in eavesdropping distance.

“Come in!” Adam calls for her, knowing that she’d rather not speak. Samus gives him an appreciative glance.

A medical trainee slips in, her hands hesitant and jittery as she balances sets of hologram medical charts and the door. Samus restrains making a pained noise.

“Well, anyway,” Adam sighs in relief. Medical trainees were usually the least threatening when it came to confidential military intel. He presses two fingers to his temple and salutes goodbye. “I’d better hurry home. Casca’s waiting for me. Or in the more likely case, toying around with her experiments.” Samus has to crack a smile at that. If Adam was a military genius, his wife was a robotics one. “In any case, someone needs to make sure she didn’t leave the stove on. Bye!” he adds to the medical trainee.

“Hello—Bye,” she replies awkwardly, poking herself in the eye.

 

“Are you _really_ a hybrid of two different species?”

…is the most likely question Samus will be bombarded with by this trainee. The only time Samus is seen by a physician other than her own is when young, wide-eyed students want to interview the one and only Samus Aran.

She doesn’t know if she can really fault them. Samus, is, by all means, a medical miracle. An enlarged heart, a threateningly-low heart rate, hollow bones, a missing ovary and kidney, amongst a variety of other abnormal-normals for someone that looks like a human. At least that’s what all the trainees tell her, anyway.

But that dreaded question doesn’t come. Nor does the interview. The young woman adjusts the scarf bundled around her head, gathers herself, and takes the seat beside Samus’s bed.

All she asks are the basics—what brought you here, does it hurt anywhere, can I get you anything—but never that awestruck rhetorical question.

“You’re not going to ask me about my genetics?” Samus finally asks, unable to restrain her surprise any longer.

The young woman blinks for a second and then answers simply, “No.” Seeing Samus’s puzzled look, she continues sympathetically, “I’m sure you get that a lot.”

A short silence and then.

“I’ll see you later, Samus Aran.”

Only when Samus glances down at the folded letter under the sheets does she realize why this stranger had come here.

 

Samus tucks her hands into her coat pocket. The wind bites at her face. Being half-bird means silently enduring temperatures that would be comfortable for any other human.

She finds that she likes leather jackets. They do a good job of keeping her warm _and_ hiding that her body isn’t human. Her zero suit can only accomplish the former.

Her zero suit doesn’t fold around her body the way it’s shown in movies and posters. Her body is hideous to human eyes—too wide with muscle at the chest, a shallow indentation at the center of her sternum (pectus excavatum, her doctors called it). A body that does not curve or round corners like it’s supposed to. It doesn’t bother her, but the looks she gets do.

In this part of town, she gets looks anyway.

In intergalactic society, Samus is known as a legend. In the slums of Daiban, she’s known as a person.

That basically means that amongst Daiban’s richer citizens, Samus goes unnoticed. No one would expect that unusually tall blonde to be the universe-famous bounty hunter. Compared to here, on streets lined with sewage instead of flowerbeds, where almost everyone knows her face and could come to her with a plea or a threat.

Currently, she’s trying to figure out which one of those two this is.

She spreads her legs shoulder width apart. Digs her hands deeper into her pockets, scrunching the letter up in shivering fists, and stares up at the blinking fluorescent sign. She can’t, for the life of her, read whatever language the sign is in. She recognizes the script, however. Apparently, it used to be the most commonly spoken language on Earth.

“Are you incompetent?”

Samus hardly has a second to adjust to the dim lighting before she’s assaulted with that remark. The voice is familiar enough so that when she can see, she’s not surprised at the face behind the bar.

That look of judgement always plastered on her face, long cornrows folding over her shoulders and spilling over the table and a bindi pressed to the center of her forehead—always shining, never out of place. Samus always did wonder how she managed to keep it like that even after enduring several explosions and heavy gunfire every mission.

“Saira,” she greets in response, making herself comfortable in one of the seats across from her.

“Listen, I don’t care how you are. I want to know what the hell is wrong with you.”

If Samus has learned anything about her old friend, she knows the best way to deal with Saira’s temper is for her to let it all out while Samus sits quietly and daydreams about something completely unrelated.

Although in this instance, something real draws her attention instead. Peeking out from behind the bar is that same so-called medical trainee, pitch black scarf wrapped around a bright brown face.

“It’s you,” is all Samus can say.

“Don’t scare her,” Saira chides. “She’s one of the new Pages.”

“Really? Isn’t she a bit old? I thought you Knights stole kids from orphanages before the age of sixteen and brainwashed them into joining you.”

“Shut it, Samus. It’s not like you didn’t used to work for them.”

“And I left. Your point? You’re still working for them.”

“And Adam still works for the Federation. _Your_ point?”

“At least Adam recognizes the military is corrupt.”

“Look,” Saira grunts, clearly exhausted of an argument that’s been going on for far longer than the time Samus entered this bar. “I realize there’s corruption amongst the Knights. But at least I can say whatever the hell I want about them without getting my head blasted off.”

“No, of course not,” Samus replies dryly. “The Knights much prefer knives to slit your throat with.”

The conversation ends with the young Page in the corner snickering. She’s given a warning glance by her superior and immediately draws a polite hand over her mouth.

Turning back to her old partner, Saira lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Anyway,” she snaps. “Aren’t _you_ too Chozo to be arguing? I thought senseless bickering was beyond you. Or have you been hanging around humans too much lately?”

“Probably. But I never had anyone to call a friend back when I said that.”

Saira just bites her lip and smiles.

“Now do you want me to spill all the Knights’ juicy secrets or not?”

 

“Do you know anything about the experiments they’ve been doing on Metroids lately?”

Samus Aran gives her friend the most unimpressed look she’s probably ever been given in the galaxy.

“Sorry, I’m not updated on the asinine things the Federation is doing in an attempt to destroy themselves,” she replies curtly. “But yes, Adam did mention something about this before being interrupted. By your little Page, in fact.” The young woman in the corner blinks innocently as if she weren’t the current topic being discussed.

“It wouldn’t have mattered. Adam doesn’t know anything about this.” Samus just raises her eyebrows. “He would have told you what the experiments were on, but that’s not the issue. Our current problem is that Adam Malkovich, despite having nothing to do with it, was credited for being the head of the experiments. And you know how much the Knights loathe that sort of stuff.”

“Adam is the one who recommended us to join the Knights.”

“Yeah well, the relationship is more complicated than that. Anyway, there’s an ambush set up for him on his next mission. They’re planning to assassinate him.”

If there were some kind of reward for the most unimpressed looks somewhere in this galaxy, Samus would have won it at least six times over by now. The only way she can convey any more annoyance is by folding her arms and letting out a slight sigh.

“And you couldn’t tell this to Adam directly?”

“Come on,” Saira scoffs. “Wouldn’t it look suspicious if a high-ranking Knight met with the General they were targeting? Especially if he managed to get away.”

“And it won’t look suspicious for you to meet with a bounty hunter that happens to save his life later on?”

“You’re Samus. Samus just knows things.” Her friend shrugs. “You can tell them it was your weird Chozo magic.”

Samus snorts.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” she says after a pause.

Saira gives her a wide grin and tries not to laugh.

“Yeah. Because it’s not a fact. I just have a feeling…that this is a set-up.”

Samus perks up at that. “You think the Federation is setting up Adam Malkovich’s death?”

“Exactly.”

 

Samus leans back in her seat and sighs. The cushion behind her head feels strangely hard, but it probably has something to do with the fact that she has a headache from all this drama.

It wouldn’t have been the first time the Federation tried to kill one of their own. It was why Saira and Samus ended up having to resign all those years ago. Grunts were disposable, though. To have one of their greatest generals murdered off…

Adam really had to have messed up.

Samus sinks into her chair and lets out a long breath like a deflating balloon. “How many times do I have to come and save your incompetent ass?”

Clearly, not enough times.

Samus sucks it up and reaches out towards her monitor. A good mission never started off without a thorough search into top-secret Federation files. The details of how she always managed to procure such files were irrelevant and unnecessary to disclose.

Her monitor hums as she opens the mission briefing. She runs through each file with delicate fingers—the only time Samus ever displayed any form of delicateness, Adam always had to remark and then got punched in the shoulder. She smiles to herself when she thinks of that.

Adam was the only thing she missed about her Federation days.

_Cybele. A decommissioned space station in Cosmos Region A47. Its period of operation was short-lived. On April 17, 2064, merely a month after it was deemed safe to carry out scientific experiments, a horrific accident killed 3 people and injured 41. Due to protests from GSPRA and public media outcry, it was forced to shut down and the experiments were discontinued. The source of the accident is still ongoing investigation._

Contrary to what the Federation thinks, Samus Aran is not an idiot. She can probably hazard a handful of guesses as to what happened on that ship. She’s spent far too much time with the Federation’s leash around her neck to not know better.

But for now, she has more pertinent business to attend to rather than questioning the Federation’s illegal operations.

Given the distance from here to where this floating mass of space junk hovered, Samus gathers she’ll need at least two or three meals for the journey. She sighs. Yet another struggle in the day of the life of Samus Aran. Having a fast metabolism and the genetics of a bird means having a diet completely unsuitable to human tastes. She buys nuts and seeds in bulk and fresh fruit if she can afford it. Problem is, that hardly counts as a meal. She just misses the days where she could feast on huge nutritious insects on Zebes cooked by Chozo. Samus was probably the only Federation trainee ever to have _not_ screamed at the sight of a kihunter. (She had just salivated instead, and Samus can’t decide which reaction would have been more embarrassing.)

Samus runs her hand over the hologram at the center of her ship. The platform she stands over drops down, hissing as it comes to a stop against the metal docking bay. Samus can only thank her lucky stars (or planets destroyed, however she feels like looking at it that day) that she gets enough bounty money to afford an entire five kilograms of walnuts.

She takes a few steps before a voice interrupts her thoughts.

“Samus Aran?”

She doesn’t think much of it, chalked the tinge of excitement threaded through a much more sinister voice to a fan or a journalist. Only when she feels searing pain through her neck does she realize the voice belonged to neither.

Before she can twist to see their face, Samus watches helpless as the world around her goes black.


End file.
